Erreur
by 0estunecloche0
Summary: Watson gazed over the mysterious visitor, trying to place his familiarity. Turning back, to look into the flat, Watson’s thoughts went to the man upstairs in the sitting room. He could only hope he would forgive him.
1. Chapter 1

A resounding knock disturbed both slumbering forms in the sitting room of 221 Baker Street. Holmes started in his sleep, to see Watson beginning to rise from his chair. Another knock rang through the house.

"Mrs. Hudson must be out," muttered Watson. "I'll get the door, old chap." A muffled reply was all he got in return. After a slow descent down the stairs, and yet another persistent knock, Watson answered the door.

A man in a large black top hat stood before him.

"Is Mr. Holmes in?" The stranger looked at Watson with fleeting green eyes. Watson gazed over the mysterious visitor, trying to place his familiarity, when he noticed the thin scar that trailed from the visitor's left ear to his mouth. Turning back, to look into the flat, Watson's thoughts went to the man upstairs, slumbering softly on this dreary evening. He could only hope he would forgive him. Taking a deep breath, Watson steeled his courage.

"I am he."

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Holmes awoke to the sound of a gunshot. One shot, from a revolver- that much he was certain of. Quickly he remembered the scene that had played out earlier. Watson went down the stairs, to answer some persistent caller at the door, and then…

In a flash Holmes was down the stairs, racing to the front door. The scene that greeted knocked the breath from his lungs. He hurried to the threshold, where Watson lay, rivulets of blood flowing from his chest. Holmes knelt beside him, grasping his clammy hand. Watson tilted his head to look up at Holmes, a pained grimace on his face.

"It…it was him Holmes. I…I couldn't have stopped him. I'm….sorry." He murmured his words slowly, his breathing labored. Holmes grasped his hand harder, and looked at Watson's abdomen, trying to assess how he could save his friend. Pulling his housecoat off, he tore away a sleeve and placed it on the wound, while applying pressure.

"Stay with me, Watson, you must stay with me!" But Watson's eyes had closed, and he was breathing in gasps.

Holmes was helpless, and could only bellow, "Someone get a doctor!" into the dusky air.


	2. Chapter 2

Upon hearing the all too familiar sounds of the consulting detective and his friend nearing his office, Lestrade could all but grimace. The past week had been very difficult for him, due to a highly befuddling case. A young deaf woman, a dressmaker, had been shot dead in her own home. The murderer had left no trace at the scene of the crime, and there had been no witnesses. In addition, every person they spoke with made her out to be a proverbial saint.

While the fabrics the dressmaker used where fine, her talent acute, and her fees high, she lived very modestly. Most of her earnings went to an orphanage she helped run with her brother, a parish priest. Why anyone would kill this young woman was beyond him. The sound of his door swinging open awoke him from his reverie.

"So Inspector, I believe you have a case for us?" A smirk danced upon the face of Sherlock Holmes, as he looked down at Lestrade. Watson merely laughed at the policeman's ruffled feathers.

"Yes, I daresay I do. This case is just a dead end, I mean, it is peculiar, perplexing, and there simply isn't a motive!" Lestrade looked to Holmes, who seemed to be intrigued.

"Well, you have our attention. Let's hear more about this peculiar, perplexing case with no motive." Holmes looked to Watson then, who seemed rather enticed by the whole thing. The Inspector sighed, before leading the duo to the dressmaker's home.

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

"Her name was Anna Spedits. She was a dressmaker, a deaf woman, who donated most of her sizable income to an orphanage she ran with brother, a local priest." Lestrade stood back, watching Holmes move about the small room.

"The body was here," said Holmes, as he motioned to a dark mark on the floor of the flat. "Which means when she was shot, she must have been standing approximately here." He moved to the threshold of the small room.

"Watson, can you stand right where I am? And Lestrade, can you stand about a meter in front of him?" The two did as the detective said.

"She did not know her attacker, for she didn't let him inside, and regardless, the killer did not give her much time to do much of anything. And since you said, Lestrade, that it looked as if she made no attempt to flee or defend herself, the encounter must have been quite quick." Holmes paced the room, before walking out of the room, past Watson, to where Lestrade stood. Looking up, he quickly went back inside the small flat.

"Where is the staircase?" Holmes looked to Lestrade.

"Staircase? There is none. Another woman owns the upper two floors, by the name of Antje Spiftz. She has her own private stairway on the opposite side of the building."

Watson turned his head quickly to Lestrade at the mention of the woman.

"Spiftz? As in…" Holmes interrupted Watson, and answered before Lestrade could.

"As in Charles Spiftz, the man who swindled several prominent English families. His sister's name is Antje. Antje was close to Charles, and it was suspected that she knew where he hid the money he procured, yet she claimed she was ignorant." Holmes paced about the room once more.

"And Anna, she was deaf, Inspector?"

"Yes, completely. Though she did read lips." With that, Holmes's turned away from the room, and back towards the two men.

"Lestrade," said Watson, " I believe Holmes has solved your perplexing case."


	3. Chapter 3

Standing in the doorway of the small flat, Holmes began his explanation.

"Anna Spedits is rather similar to Antje Spiftz, name wise. Both the first, and last names begin with the same letter. And if one says it rather quickly, one can hardly tell the difference by looking at their lips."

Holmes paused for a moment, distracted by a noise from the street.

"What the deuce does that have to do with anything?" Spat a rather annoyed Lestrade as he massaged his temples.

"It has the deuce to do with everything, Inspector," said Holmes, "for Anna was deaf. She depended on reading lips when interfacing with strangers. If someone where to come to her door, ask for say, Antje Spiftz, and if they had an accent that caused them to move their mouth in a slightly different manner than the average Englishman, she would think they were asking for her, Anna Spedits. The poor girl would have nodded her head in recognition, and not realize she was digging her own grave." Holmes looked to Lestrade with a satisfied smirk.

"That is a great deal of supposition Holmes. Sure, it sounds all well and good, but who's to say that actually happened? And how would one even begin to proving it?" Lestrade, who at this point looked rather haggard, just leaned against the balustrade. Watson, on the other hand looked up at the second story curiously, before beginning to speak.

"Well…actually Inspector, there is very little supposition at all. This morning Holmes and I were discussing the Spiftz brother and sister. It seems that their latest criminal act was swindling the Gatreau family of Paris. Their son is about to marry the daughter of Henry Longbroode, a doctor here in London. Marc Gatreau is a precious gems merchant, who has some rather shady acquaintances, and I would not be surprised if he took matters of revenge into his own hands." He looked to Holmes, to see him smiling wide. Lestrade could only chortle under his breath.

"I understand now." He took out a handkerchief to mop his brow before continuing.

"You believe the Gatreau family hired an assassin of sorts to kill Charles' sister. They gave the man an address and a name, but instead of killing the swindler's sister, they killed the saint living below her."

Holmes looked around the room before sighing.

"Precisely."

**Thank you to all those who are reading...and especially those who take the time to review! And pardon the brevity of this chapter- they will get longer!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: It has been rather long since I started this story, but I am set to finish it before the New Year is upon us! To all who reviewed or set a story alert, thanks! Enjoy, and there will be more to follow. **

Outside the hospital windows the sky had stars seeped through the inky darkness. Before him, Watson lay in a morphine-induced sleep among the clean white sheets. The doctors had been able to remove the bullet, but Watson had lost a greet deal of blood.

"Why Watson? In what scenario in your head was this the best plan of attack?" Holmes looked at his friend's still face, too bewildered by his actions to think of anything else.

"Trying to save me, or thinking that you could save me by risking your own life is, at the least fool hardy and at most incredibly stupid."

He grasped for Watson's hand, finding it cold and hopelessly still. Holmes went to sit in the chair beside the bed, saying a silent prayer for Watson's health.

A voice shook him from his thoughts, and Holmes turned to see a familiar face. Lestrade stood in the doorway, a concerned look across his face.

"Will he be alright?"

Holmes nodded his head.

"Yes, the doctors said he should make a full recovery. They were able to retrieve the bullet, but he lost a great deal of blood."

"But what, I mean who, was it exactly? Why shoot Watson?"

Holmes sighed.

"Because Inspector, the man who shot Watson was the same man who murdered your deaf dressmaker. He…he shot Watson because he thought…he thought he was me."

Lestrade looked to Holmes with a breadth of questions in his eyes, but then took one look at the consulting detective. He clad only in his dress shirt, vest and trousers, his coat absent. Blood was streaked down the front of his entire vest and his sleeves were bloodied. His hair was in a state of disarray, and overall he looked tired.

Lestrade sighed, and saved his questions for a more appropriate moment.

"Holmes, you should go back to Baker Street, if not just to change your clothing. Right now your state of dress is rather shocking."

Holmes looked down, noticing, as if for the first time the blood about his person. Then he looked to Lestrade with incessant, almost pleading eyes.

"I will stay here until you return. You have my word, now please, go and change so you will not scare Watson when he wakes."

At that comment, Holmes gave Lestrade a small smile, before slowly rising from his sentry position. As he walked through the doorway he turned quickly, to see Lestrade settling himself in the chair. Lestrade gave him a reassuring nod, and Holmes proceeded to head back to Baker Street.


	5. Chapter 5

Holmes paced in the courtyard of the quaint building shared by both Anna and Antje while Watson merely looked satisfied by the discomfort radiating from Lestrade. It was a simple enough puzzle which Holmes had solved, but it was a puzzle that only Holmes' manner of deduction could put together, which, Watson mused, was what made his friend so unique. Though Lestrade always seemed just a bit miffed by the amateur consulting detectives' talent. Watson chuckled, receiving a sideways glance from Lestrade and a brief smile from Holmes.

"Here is the only thing I am uncertain of," Holmes finally spoke. "How would the Gatreau family even confirm that Antje was dead? Who would be the check for the assassin?"

Watson merely shook his head, as Lestrade grew increasingly frustrated.

"Holmes, I have no bloody idea. I mean, really, all of this you are uncovering is very new to me and the case!" Lestrade sighed.

"Calm down Lestrade, please. Now I am only curious about this little issue. I think further investigation of this matter is desired. Come Watson, I am in dire need of some lunch."

* * *

Sitting in a café near Baker Street, Holmes sipped his coffee, whilst Watson tucked into a bowl of soup. Holmes seemed faraway, contemplating strands of the case which were yet to be woven into the bigger tapestry.

"So…Holmes…tell me what you really think. I now that back there you were just trying to rid yourself of Lestrade, because you never willingly eat anything,"

Holmes scoffed at Watson's remark before allowing him to continue.

"But I am very curious, for I have no finite clue as to what you are thinking about. What the devil is really going on here?"

Watson then allowed himself a hearty slurp of soup.

"What's going on here, Watson, is a very sinister plot, more sinister than your average jewelry heist. We must proceed with the utmost caution."

A surprised look came across Watson's face.

"Whatever can you mean, Holmes? I have no conceivable idea as to where you are drawing all of these sinister plots from."

"Watson, while you do not, I do. I believe that the Spiftz brother and sister and this assassin like character are one in the same. I remembered that article you were reading earlier today in The Times and it had a detailed description of the Gatreau's and the brother, yet there was no picture. In essence, I am curious as to how the Gatreau's would even be clear of the physical appearances of the brother and sister duo that made off with their gems."

A look of realization crossed Watson's face.

"So you believe that the pair added insult to injury and offered their services to the family, to kill themselves and bring the jewels back?"

"Precisely. But by "accidently" killing the wrong woman, they can claim they alerted the sister and were unable to reclaim the gems. They could then insist that the Gatreaus pay them for the services rendered." Holmes sat back, a very satisfied grin on his face.

"Well," Watson said with a sigh," I have the utmost certianty that you have already figured out a way to prove all of this..."

"Indeed."


End file.
